Statistics
by Kinda.Sorta.Insane
Summary: Maybe it wasn't accidental. Logan/Carlos
1. Chapter 1

Statistics

I'm dissatisfied with this one. I think it'll show.

Warning: Nonsensical apartment directions. Examples- hallways that don't exist, furniture arranged in impossible ways.

Logan POV

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

You know how, on some websites, they have these really weird pop-ups that aren't at all related to what you're looking at? Yeah. I'm on one of those websites right now. Its just Carlos and I home. I'm reading some statistic thingie, not absorbing anything on the page, when I hear Carlos yell for me from the other room. Deciding that the meaningless data was boring I got up to see what he needed. After helping him (he couldn't find the remote), he went running back to the TV. I followed behind him, not really eager to get back to the computer. Suddenly deciding on a detour, I went to the kitchen for a drink.

"What're you working on Logan?" _Something horribly boring and not at all worth it._ I think.

"Nothing really. Why?" I smile to myself.

"The computer's flashing and it's distracting." _Oh. Nothing interesting._ After finishing my drink, I head back to the computer. It's strangely silent. Or, at least, it would be, if it weren't for the TV. Carlos is hovering of the computer. Kinda weird, but not unexpected.

Well, until a rather loud moan split the room it wasn't weird. Then it was more of a 'what the heck is he doing' moment.

"Carlos?" Awkward moment. He turns around and his face is slightly red and his eyes are abnormally bright and I can't tell if it's just the lighting creating that bulge in his pants.

"What _were_ you looking at Logan? This is most definitely not 'nothing really'." I blink. And then I blink again. And for good measure, I blink a third time. _What type of statistics was I looking at again?_ Giving him a strange look, I step closer to the computer and coincidently, him.

"I was just looking at statistics…" So what if it was said a bit defensively? You would've done it too.

"Since when was a bunch of videos of guys making out and stuff called 'statistics'?" If I hadn't used up my three blinks I would've blinked again. Instead I frowned and furrowed my brows and paused mid-step. To complete the scene, I gave him a questioning look.

"What? I didn't know you were into this sort of thing, Logan." _What sort of thing?_ I move closer, and closer still until I can see the screen. The screen… I was **not** looking at this. Despite this fact, I can feel my face flushing and the faint twinge in my stomach, my body's reaction to the images on screen. I was **not** looking at this. I look away. My eyes flicker up to Carlos's face. He grins.

"I was **not** looking at this." His grin turns sly.

"Of course you weren't…" He murmurs. Well, that's what it should've been at least. A murmur. Instead, it came out as a sexy half growl half purr followed by a step closer to me. Let's pause this for just a second, shall we?

The space between us was limited to begin with. There was only about a foot of space between us. Now take a second (or two or thee or twenty) to think about something. About how long is a stride would you say? Now don't overwork your brain or anything 'cause I'll tell you right now: about one foot. Especially in limited space. Now that that's settled, let's go back to the moment.

So we're pressed right up against each other. And, for me, it's a bit awkward, because, well, Carlos is a little bit shorter than me. And he is one hundred percent in control. Yes he is. I lean into the wall, which was just a little too conveniently placed. My eyes are wide, because this is not part of everyday happenings. His hands, the devious little things that they are, wind their way around my hips. He presses ever closer and I can't help but gulp. I also can't help letting my gaze flicker to his lips and then back up to his eyes. (Is it just me or are they darker?) He notices and a smirk finds its way to his lips. His lips. I gulp again. I feel helpless. Trapped. Slowly, clearly on his toes, he leans closer. Our lips brush. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about this. Though, when I say 'our lips brushed' I do mean brushed. A light, sweet, barely-there kiss that was nowhere near satisfying. I growl in frustration. How can he act so harsh and yet touch so soft? He smirks again. And I realize how. He's in control. Not only that, I realize again as his hands roam delicately down the front of my body. He wants me to _beg. Beg_. I do not beg.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Oops. I lost control of this one. o.O When people say things write themselves, they aren't lying. Hmm… I don't know what to do about this… Suggestions?


	2. Chapter 2

I've decided what to do with this. Hope the results are satisfying.

**Last Time On : Statistics**

_How can he act so harsh and yet touch so soft? He smirks again. And I realize how. He's in control. Not only that, I realize again as his hands roam delicately down the front of my body. He wants me to beg_. _Beg. I do not beg._

Now : Chapter Two

His hands, ever the hard workers, are everywhere at once. Up my shirt, down my pants, in my hair, on my face... Everywhere. That is everywhere except... the right places. Sure they're up my shirt, but are they moving? No. They're just barely touching the edge of my ribs. And, yeah, they're down my pants... in the back. And my hair... actually, I have no complaints there. Same with my face. Its just that a few places can seem like a lot of places in a moment like this. During the few seconds it takes to think about this, he manages to pin me to the couch, thus eliminating the height difference, and, consequently, giving him even more control.

I lose my shirt first... Or was it my pants? Boxers? No, that isn't even possible... All I know for sure is that somehow, we both ended up naked. On the couch. Where anyone could see.

Now, while my calmness may be disturbing to some, others are surely thinking. Does this happen often or is he just always a rational thinker? On that I would like to say that I only wish this happened often. Wishing is very different from it actually happening though. Now am I always rational in my thoughts? I don't know. My thoughts always seem a least a little rational to me. Considering there's usually a reason I'm thinking something that others would deem irrational. Anyways... Back to the moment.

After a few failed attempts at speaking around the tongue in my mouth I finally manage. "Carlos?" And, while I'd like to say that this was a strong, assertive question, it was actually more of a squeak. Pitiful, I know. He pulls back, and the gleam in his eye almost makes me lose my resolve. Almost.

"What?" He murmurs/purrs. There really is no other way to explain it.

"Umm... Shouldn't we have gone on a date or something first?" I know. I'm about to have my teenage desires satisfied and all I seem to be able to think about is the lack of dating. Sue me for enjoying having him friend. A one-night stand isn't really worth a friendship. No matter how good the... _interactions_ may be.

"Dates are for people to get to know each other. I think we know each other pretty well. Don't you?" His voice is sly, and sounds as though he'd given this particular argument some thought. As though he'd rehearsed it in his head or in front of a mirror. That doesn't stop me from agreeing with him though.

"Carlos?" I just don't want this friendship to die because of this.

"It's not a one time thing. Promise." And for all of his recklessness he rarely, if ever, breaks promises.

"Ok..."

And, with that, spoken words die out. And it wasn't really perfect. First times rarely are. But it was a promise of what was to come. A promise of a time where it will be perfect.

After all, most people's ideas of a perfect first time wouldn't be on a couch. It'd probably be on a bed or something similar.

_Thud._

"Ow..." I peer over the edge of the couch at Carlos, who had managed to fall off. "Thanks to you, my afterglow has been cut short." He sends a half-hearted glare in my direction.

"I don't see how this is my fault." The effort of leaning over proves to be too much for my sated body and I flopped back over all the way onto the couch.

"For all of your concerns, you didn't even consider the fact that we were on the couch? And not a bed?" He shifted so that he'd be leaning against the couch rather than the air.

"Not really."

Most people say that their first time will be when 'the time is right' or when 'we both have time planned.' Ours was planned in advance. By him. Notice the lack of my imput.

"So... how long have you had this planned?" Casually. You can't just find a website like that on a spur of the moment decision

"... Was it really that obvious?"

"Yes."

"Months."

"How many?"

"Too many."

Also, for some reason, lots of people's fantasy involves candles. Ours involved spam. Spam of all things.

"Spam?" Disbelief colors my tone.

"Yep." He sounds proud of himself.

"What ever happened to candles?"

That's the kinda strange story of how a (fake) pop-up ad changed my life. Kind of. It would've happened eventually.

Sure, it's short. At least it's done though… I'm particularly proud that it managed to stay T. It was at the cost of length however.


End file.
